stoned on shoes and literature

I'm too lazy to write anything like I usually do (eccentric/overlysatirical/slightlydisturbing) so I'm going to write an excerpt from something I found in my sketchbook journal. By the by, who wants to buy me these shoes? My email is over there --> or you can reach me via phone call, my number is 1888DESPRIT. Thanks. Anyways, right, the excerpt.

Her eyes told me something. A silent strife, subjectively weeping in the most crucial manner. It meant something. Not only to her but also to me. My sympathies began to well underneath my chest, and I impulsively took her hand in my own.

"It's going to be all right" I told her, and suddenly objectivity took its toll and she was wearing her heart on her torn up sleeve. And I joined her in her anguish, the sruggle to grasp the reassurance. We wept and held onto each others hand as tightly as we could, as if our hands were the concrete form of my previously uttered statement.

I probably wrote this in a delusional state because typically my writing is shit in comparison. Oh, and the picture of me is from a few weeks back. Yes, I realize those glasses have no lenses in them. If I had a nickel for every time I've said that I would be able to buy every pair of the Chanel gun shoes that were ever made and rent out an empty pool and go to town via diving board.

sincere apologies, mkay

I haven't been home for a while. The past few weeks actually. And now that I'm home I've started working to save up for the city in a month and the rest of the summer's shenanigans. So yeah. Don't expect a lots of posting soon. I mean, what can you expect? When you're a procrastinator and a blogger and the weather's perfect you're bound to fail somewhere. Anyways.

I leave you with a picture and a thought.

walking down the hallways of my memory, the hardcover spines of my past, i notice something that catches my eye. don't judge a book by it's cover, it wrote, and i thought about irony and literary devices and all that. i removed it from it's home, dust lingering around my lips, and glanced at the cover. glitter, rainbows, unicorns, sunshine, nostalgia. i placed the book under my nose and inhaled. it reeked of flowers. life. rain. happiness. intrigued, i opened the book. the pages were cut out in a square and in the middle lay a severed earlobe, the smell of angst and death attacking my nostrils. the words were smeared with blood. unreadable. i placed it back in it's original spot and kept walking. spines always tell the truth.

post Joy Division, it's okay I still love you

I'm leaving in about five minutes so I can't convey a lot in this post (I think this is for your own benefit however as my rambling is full of psychological toxins and will probably turn you into a wingless bird if entirely read) but sorry for being gone. I just graduated high school (liberating!) and haven't been home or on the internet for 1 week+ so it explains quite a bit.

Anyway I've been pretty inspired by Eastasian fashion lately so I've been into quite a bit of layering lately. Plus I've been listening to New Order a bit lately so it probably explains the song choice (title of tune is Ceremony download it now and you'll be doing yourself a favour). PS. Lately.

PPS. A million points goes to the person who can guess what piece of clothing (footwear) I haven't taken off since purchase. I love love love them. Oh and if someone can get me White Eyelet Doc Martens boots I will create world peace.*

*I'll try my hardest, k?

PPS. This outfit was intended for future reference as I did not attend an important enough event for this beautiful of an ensemble.

Black coat is from Old Navy. Floral cardigan, jean shorts, Doc Martens are all thrifted. Black/pink undershirt which is actually a dress and the pink tights and all necklaces are from H&M. Glasses are 3D movie rims. Pink necklace bow was originally fabric to tie graduation flowers.